For reasons that I can only guess at, even while all of this chaos was happening, a number of boats from our side pulled up to the mole, with men spilling onto the causeway. However, this group chose to land farther south than where their comrades near the island were being slaughtered, but north of where our Legionaries were battling the Egyptians for the southern drawbridge, landing effectively in between the two battles. It was only later that we were told that this particular group of idiots, having never seen a land battle up close, got the idea into their collective heads that it would be fun to watch the action from close up, and they commandeered a number of small boats to row over to watch the fun. I will say that some of them seemed to get in the spirit of things, as we watched them pick up stones to hurl at the Egyptians onboard the support ships. The sailors at the far northern end had either managed to clamber back onboard their respective ships, or been cut down, although in doing the former they caused a number of the smaller vessels to capsize when trying to climb onboard. Now the enemy on the northern end turned their attention towards this hapless band in the middle, falling down on their completely unprotected rear. For their part, our sailors were so engrossed in watching the battle for the southern drawbridge that they did not become aware that their doom was fast approaching until the enemy was just a matter of a hundred paces or so away. Not surprisingly, another panic ensued with the second group of sailors, their arms waving wildly above their heads in terror, rushing back towards their boats, the Egyptians hot on their heels.
~ ~ ~ ~
Even now, after reading Caesar’s account of what happened, I do not know what was in his mind when he chose this same moment to leave the mole and board his flagship. I do not know if he had planned to do so at that moment or if, seeing a fair number of Egyptians pounding down the causeway from an unexpected direction, he decided that it was prudent for him to remove himself. What I do know is that it is from seemingly random events, when they occur in the right order, that the outcome of a battle can turn. Such was the case now, while we stood on the roof watching all of Caesar’s plans starting to unravel, started by those Egyptian ships landing on the island to swing down on first our northern fort, then on the idiots, many of whom were now dead, either from wounds or drowning. If things had stopped there, it would have still been a salvageable situation, but now the Legionaries on the far right of the rampart guarding the drawbridge, nearest to the island and the northern fort, first seeing the disaster farther up the mole, then witnessing Caesar remove himself, began to think about their own skins. I must admit that they were subjected to murderous fire from the ships supporting the Egyptian attack on the rampart; we clearly saw a number of bodies lying at the feet of the men still fighting. First, the men on the far right, those closest to the advancing Egyptians coming down the mole, jumped down from the rampart to run across the causeway towards the eastern side, begging the men safe offshore to steer their boats closer so that they could escape to safety. Just like what happened on the opposite end of the causeway, the idiots in the middle had caused several of the boats they tried to board to capsize as well, so that now the harbor was littered with the upside down hulls of what looked like almost a dozen boats of varying size. Floating among them were a fair number of smaller shapes, the bodies of men who were either the cause of a boat capsizing as they tried to pull themselves aboard, or a victim.
“This is a fucking disaster,” I muttered, and the shock was such that none of the others could even answer me, only grunting at my words in what I took to be agreement.
What had begun with just a few men on the far right now became a complete collapse, as one by one men peeled away from their position to follow their comrade, usually the man to his right, towards what they hoped was safety. First one, then another ship, their captains either moved by the plight of the men on the mole, or forced to do so by the stranded men’s comrades, moved towards the causeway, pulling alongside to throw up their ladders. Perhaps if the men still on the mole had kept their heads, forming a perimeter to keep the Egyptians at bay while their comrades loaded onto the boats in an orderly fashion, disaster could have been averted, but the men were obviously gripped by panic. Just like the seamen earlier, they now pushed and shoved each other, fighting for a spot to descend the ladders of the ships. At first, men were content just to push each other, but it was not long before we saw the flash of a blade as a man struck down one of his own comrades. There was an audible gasp from the men around me, and I suspect from me as well.
“By the gods, is that a Centurion stabbing his own men?” Fuscus exclaimed, pointing down to the second ship, where the scene was more or less identical.
I had been paying attention to the ship closest to us, while Fuscus was pointing at the farthest ship, but when I looked, I saw that he was right. My stomach lurched at the sight of the familiar transverse crest on the head of a man, chopping down his own men. As sickening a sight as that was, I squinted at the ship, and my mouth went dry with fear.
“That’s Caesar’s ship!”
He had obviously decided to try to rescue some of his men, but they were so consumed with fear that they were now trying to climb over the side of the ship, and we could see it start to lean dangerously, the water just inches from the side.